


Il Est Temps

by Minervas_Revenge



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 17:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minervas_Revenge/pseuds/Minervas_Revenge
Summary: Hermione Granger awakens in the bed of Lucius Malfoy and they attempt to recall their evening.





	Il Est Temps

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote in the span of a morning. I guess it just needed to be out in the universe.

Hermione had only a handful of breaths to contemplate the fact that she was in a bed with Lucius Malfoy before he awoke and pinned her with a confused glower.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded in a raspy voice, sitting up and scooting to the edge of the bed, fist in the blanket to cover his…nudity.

“Excellent question,” Hermione replied, clutching bedclothes to her chest. A speedy mental inventory of her clothing revealed that, as she suspected, she wore none. She wouldn’t give up the blankets without a fight.

“Do you have your wand..?” she asked, glancing about for evidence of her own.

“_Wand!_” he summoned. Nothing appeared.

“No memory of the evening..?” she asked, forcing her gaze to remain on his face rather than trace the lines of his arms and chest musculature marred by old and new scars.

The wizard’s pale gaze met hers and all frustration seemed to leave him.

“Draco’s wedding,” he supplied.

“Alcohol,” she added.

“It would appear so,” he agreed with a drawn brow.

Hermione’s breath hitched as she vividly recalled the sensation of being beneath Lucius and running her hand through his hair. Warmth suffused her neck and face… Oh, it had been lovely.

“I better find my robes,” she whispered, mortified.

“I’ve just remembered something,” he said, quite still.

“Yes?”

“Potter took our wands.”

“We were arguing,” Hermione supplied as the memory sluggishly appeared in her mind. “Most of the guests had already gone… I refused to leave until…”

“You convinced me to support centaur rights,” Lucius finished with a suspicious curl to his mouth.

“Yes,” she replied.

“I don’t make a habit of luring witches into my bed,” Lucius began.

“If you’re attempting to apologize, you needn’t bother,” Hermione hurried to explain, self-consciously adjusting her blankets.

“Oh?” he prompted.

“I propositioned you,” she confessed, face warm as she remembered, in detail, how forward she’d been. If her memory was to be trusted, her hands in his robes had left little doubt to her desire.

“I see,” he replied, slowly, eyes slitted as he peered at her.

“Of course, you threw me over your shoulder and carried me up here,” she added as the memory surfaced.

“Ah, I believe you are correct,” he drawled. “You could barely walk.”

An embarrassed grin suddenly broke across Hermione’s face. They’d made largely unintelligible confessions of attraction as they’d undressed each other.

“Merlin’s wand, my mother probably saw that,” Lucius hissed, pressing a hand to his eyes.

“I’ll say nothing happened, if it helps,” Hermione offered, feeling bereft.

The wizard blinked at her.

“Perhaps you don’t yet recall…”

Hermione quirked a brow.

“What prompted our journey to my room…” he continued.

Hermione squinted, attempting to pinpoint the moment in her blurred memories. As it came to her, she gasped and leapt from the bed.

“No! It was in front of our closest friends…” she bemoaned.

“And my mother,” Lucius said bitterly.

“You _proposed_ to me,” she whispered, scandalized. He’d taken a knee, before a small circle of their friends.

“And you _accepted_,” Lucius replied dryly.

A blanket was draped across Hermione’s shoulders.

“Thank you,” she said. “How could this happen?” she muttered.

“You were quite complimentary of my hair,” Lucius teased.

“Yes; and you, my breasts. That’s hardly grounds for marriage,” Hermione snapped. She pulled her blanket tighter about her shoulders and began pacing.

“Hermione.”

The sound of her name from his lips wasn’t quite as foreign as it had been a day ago but it stopped her.

Lucius sat on the edge of the bed, sheet across his middle, an irritatingly amused glint in his eyes.

“We are adults and owe explanations to none,” he said.

“You’re right, of course,” she exhaled. “It was simply a drunken mistake.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. She’d been distressingly attracted to Lucius for months; the alcohol had merely removed her inhibitions.

“What I mean is, the proposal,” she clarified.

“Not the proposition?” he drawled.

Hermione waited until his pale eyes met hers before replying, “Not the proposition.”

A couple of hours later, Hermione followed Lucius from his bedroom, down a few flights of stairs, into the dining room. Draco and Astoria, Harry and Pansy, and Lucius’ mother, Mathilde, went silent over their lunch at their arrival.

Hermione blushingly sat as Lucius drew out her chair and took the seat beside her.

“Are congratulations in order, Father?” Draco asked in a careful tone.

“Oh!” Hermione had quite forgotten about the whole proposal ordeal, preoccupied with the wizard who pulled her back into his bed.

She and Lucius looked at one another, uncertain of their future. Something in the wizard changed, formed some sort of resolve. He leaned closer to her, fondness in his gaze.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, they are.”

“Il est temps,” Mathilde muttered and sipped from her glass. 

**Author's Note:**

> 'Il est temps' is French for 'it's about time.'


End file.
